


Yesterday

by sapphire_child



Category: Lost
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Ethel the acoustic electric, F/M, Gen, References to the Beatles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-25
Updated: 2005-12-25
Packaged: 2018-12-31 21:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12141573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphire_child/pseuds/sapphire_child
Summary: He sits on the beach and plays Beatles songs, waiting for her to forgive him.





	Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is actually a Christmas fic. I was just listening to the Beatles and then I got an OMGPLOTBUNNY and it started EATING MY BRAIN. So I had to write it down. Naturally. Unfortunately it had no ending and so my muse started contemplating turning it into a Christmas fic. Which I did so. It’s kind of...abstract I guess, and jumps around a bit. Oh and mind the angst – it might eat you if you let it.

She hates it when he plays Beatles songs.

It always makes her feel guilty somehow, like she was the one who fucked up, and not him. Especially when he plays “Eleanor Rigby”. And “Yesterday”. God she hates those songs now.

Sometimes she thinks he plays them because he’s forgiven her for hating him but reminding her of it so often makes her think that he hasn’t really and that just makes her confused.

It’s too hard to try and analyse his motives, so she’s given up.

_“We can work it out, we can work it out. Life is very short, and there’s no time for fussing and fighting my friend. I have always thought, that it’s a crime, so I will ask you once again...“_

‘Bloody hell,’ she hisses as he finishes one and starts up another. He seems to have an endless supply of Beatles songs in his repertoire and knows every single chord, lyric and melody. He could probably list them for her if she asked but it’s not like there’d be a point to that and she knows it’s only her brain giving her a pathetic excuse to talk to him.

She knows she’s not the only one who’s becoming aggravated by the constant thrum and pluck of his guitar and the scratchy warble of his voice. Sawyer in particular makes it his business to mutter something derogatory every time he passes him, even going as far as to threaten to break his guitar.

When she hears his voice, her head goes up with a jerk, the only time he’s stopped playing in the past week is to sleep and so this is completely unexpected. His voice carries along on the breeze in bits and starts but it doesn’t take an expert to piece it all together.

‘If you break... -cking string on my...can’t take any...bodily harm...might come to...at my hands,’

The days continue to roll on by and still she doesn’t speak to him. He becomes dangerously thin, living on water and music isn’t healthy and his face looks gaunter every day. The ever-present stubble on his chin begins to threaten at a full-blown Tom-Hanks-in-Castaway beard.

Nobody seems to want to be the first person to approach him but finally Rose caves in and brings him some food. He wolfs it down but doesn’t ask for more and every day from then on she brings him something and tries to get him to talk.

Days turn into weeks and still she hasn’t spoken to him although he’s tried once or twice now to talk to her. He still plays his guitar although with less frequency. It’s like all the music is being slowly drained out of him.

Until the day he starts playing Christmas Carols.

And he doesn’t stop all day.

By sundown she’s so completely over all the bloody “silent night’s” and “fa la la la la’s” and just the _constant_ thrum-strum-pluck of his _fucking guitar_ that when he takes a moments pause to take a sip of water, she caves in and storms over to him.

_‘Why the hell are you singing Christmas Carols?’_

He glances up from the introduction of Jingle Bells.

‘’Scuse me?’

‘You’re driving me insane!’ she cries. ‘It’s not even Christmas!’

‘Yes it is,’ he says, looking at her as though she’s gone completely mental. ‘It’s Christmas Eve tonight. Didn’t you realise?’

She stares at him.

‘Some people have even decorated up their own little Christmas trees,’ he continues calmly. ‘Haven’t you seen them all? People have been scouting around to find presents for each other the past few days and – oh that reminds me…’ he puts his guitar aside and rummages about in his pockets. ‘I swear I had it in here somewhere...’

And after a moment or two he pulls forth a small spiral shell on a chain and hands it to her.

‘I found it on the beach ages ago and thought you might like it. I searched for ages to find a chain for it so I figured hell, Christmas is a time for giving and sharing and all that tosh so I may as well still give it to you even if you do hate me.’ She stares at the tiny shell in her hands as he picks up his guitar again. ‘Sorry I didn’t get it gift wrapped for you.’

She feels more and more hollow with guilt with each word that he says, even though she knows it’s unjustified. ‘I don’t hate you.’

‘Yes you do,’ he smiles at her, quite sad and accepting. ‘I’m not saying I don’t deserve it. After all, I’m a complete and utter sod aren’t I?’

Her fingers close gently, forming a cocoon over her new treasure.

‘Thank you,’

‘Most welcome,’ he nods at her and goes back to Jingle Bells as she treads softly back to her shelter. After a few moments she puts the necklace on, liking the feel of its weight against her skin.

A few minutes later she’s back and tapping him on the shoulder.

‘Here,’

He takes her offering gently and then glances up at her in some surprise.

‘But this is yours,’ he protests, holding it back to her. ‘I can’t take this...’

‘I’m giving it to you,’ she pushes his hand back. ‘It is Christmas after all and you did give me something.' He glances down at the small red pendant in his hand for a moment before gently slipping the leather cord it hangs on around his neck. 'It’s the Chinese symbol for love.’ she explains then laughs bitterly. ‘I guess I thought it’d bring me some.’

‘Maybe I’ll be a bit luckier,’ he smiles a little at her but she just shrugs and pushes herself to her feet, brushing sand off her hands as she turns to leave.

‘Claire?’ he twists around to look at her.

‘Yes?’

‘Will you tell Aaron Merry Christmas for me?’

There’s something in his eyes that makes her want to cry – it certainly hurts to see it – but all she can do in the end is nod in affirmation.

He smiles then, if a little tremulously, and nods. ‘Thanks.’

And within ten minutes he’s playing again, the songs blend together in her mind as she takes Aaron out of his cradle to nurse him but then his hand catches the fine chain around her neck and breaks it. And as she frantically tries to fix the broken links she finds herself crying and doesn’t really know why.

 _Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way_  
Why she had to go I don't know, she wouldn't say  
Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way  
I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday


End file.
